


Little Hawk

by cdreaiton



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Age Regression/De-Aging, Clint Barton Needs a Hug, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, Past Child Abuse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-26
Updated: 2016-11-26
Packaged: 2018-09-02 07:09:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,103
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8655400
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cdreaiton/pseuds/cdreaiton
Summary: Clint gets hit by a strange energy pulse that leaves his mind and memories fine... but his body is that of a six year old.





	

**Author's Note:**

> THERE WILL BE NO SEX WITH MINORS IN THIS STORY!!!! Rating is for language mostly.

“Hawkeye. Sit rep.” Steve’s no nonsense voice comes over the coms.

“All clear from up here, Cap. Looks like that’s the last of them,” answers Clint, scanning the horizon.

“Good. Tony, do one last sweep around the perimeter, everyone else, head to the jet,” orders the Captain.

Clint watches Tony fly past him to finish his sweep and notices a shadow tailing him. He grabs an arrow and nocks it.

“You got a bogey on your six, Iron Man. I got a line on it. Veer left down 49th and I’ll snag him.”

“Copy that, Birdman,” Tony responds, uncharacteristically compliant. It’s been a long fight with strange shadow creatures, and everyone’s tired and wants nothing more than to be done and go home.

Drawing back his arrow, Clint aims and follows the shadow until Tony turns and is no longer in his arrow’s path. As soon as he looses the arrow, the shadow turns in mid air, dodges the projectile, and bee-lining for Hawkeye. Clint grabs another arrow, and lets it fly. The shadow evades it. It’s moving much faster than any of the others had, and Clint quickly checks his escape options, wondering if he can get off the roof before it gets close enough to start throwing the weird little shadow bombs they’ve spent the last several hours dealing with. He decides he’s got enough time, and heads for the fire escape on the side of the apartment building he’s been perched on, talking into his com as he runs.

“Cap. Got a situation up here. Could really use some…”

An explosion of light and fizzling black energy rocks the apartment building before Clint can finish his call for help. Steve swivels and watches the building, but there’s no sign of Clint scaling down the side.

“Hawkeye! Do you copy? Clint!” Steve yells, fear creeping into his voice.

Thor flies in from the side and, once the energy clears, lands on the roof, which appears to be untouched. He spots Clint’s bow near an air conditioning unit and heads towards it cautiously. A pile of black cloth sits next to it, Hawk’s quiver laying on top of it. When the little bundle moves, Thor takes a step back, raising his hammer, ready to strike. Then a light brown head pops out of the pile.

“What the fuck was that?” the head says incredulously, in a young voice. The head turns and looks at Thor, who is still standing with his hammer raised. “Oh hey, Thor. You can lower the hammer. I think that shadow bastard is gone. Got caught in his own blast. Not sure how I managed to dodge it, but gift horse, mouth, all that,” the head pauses speaking and really looks at Thor, “Wow. You look a lot bigger from down here. Like, _a lot_ bigger. Did you get bigger?”

“It is not I who is bigger, Hawk friend,” Thor says, lowering his hammer, “You appear to be… smaller.”

“Smaller? What are you talking abou…?” Hawkeye asks, glancing down at himself, “What the hell?! I’m tiny! What did those fuckers do to me?!”

“I am uncertain,” Thor answers a bit awkwardly, “I have never seen magic like this before.”

“Thor! What’s happening?” Steve demands over the coms.

“I…” Thor starts, “I believe you had best come up and see for yourself, Captain.”

A few seconds later, Steve drops to the roof, and Tony lands next to him. Natasha arrives a few moments later, vaulting up from the fire escape Clint had been headed for when he’d been hit, and her jaw nearly drops in disbelief at what she sees. Clint looks like he’s approximately six years old, and is standing next to his far too large uniform, wearing nothing but his undershirt, which now reaches nearly to the middle of his thighs. The teams stands there, staring, for an inordinate amount of time before being snapped out of their thoughts by Clint.

“Stop staring at me like that. It’s creepy,” their now child teammate admonishes them with a glare, which is probably one of the strangest things any of them have ever seen, which considering what they do for a living is quite a feat in and of itself.

“Please tell me one of those shadow things survived so we can figure out how this happened and how to fix it,” Tony says softly, a note of pleading in his voice.

Steve shakes his head slowly. The creatures had healed almost instantly from any wounds the team had managed to inflict, and the only way they’d been able to get rid of them… was to destroy them completely.

"There's got to be some way to fix it,” Clint insists, looking down at his now small form, “I can’t be tiny forever!”

“Tony. Thor. Sweep the site for anything those shadows might have left,” Steve orders, and the two take off immediately, “Tasha, let’s get Clint to the jet, just incase. We can protect him better there.”

Before Natasha can respond, Clint marches up to Steve and punches him in the thigh. The action itself is so absurd, Natasha nearly laughs, and Steve grits his teeth. Not because the punch had hurt, he’d honestly barely felt it, but because he’s also trying to repress a smile, and this is obviously _not_ the time for laughter.

“I don’t need to be protected!” Clint insists adamantly, “I’m still me. I can handle myself just fine,” he picks up his bow from his pile of things, and holds it out. It’s now almost taller than him. “Okay… maybe not with this, but I still know more martial arts than you can name!”

“You’re right, Clint. I’m sorry. But I still think it would be better to go back to the jet. Once Tony and Thor finish their sweep, we won’t be able to do anything else here,” Steve comments, looking down at his teammate.

“Fine,” comes Clint’s response, and he grabs his things and drags them across the roof, scaring the crap out of both Steve and Tasha when he jumps to the next one over, where the jet is parked. He makes it, thankfully, and they quickly follow.

Clint drops his things next to one of the seats, and starts to climb into the pilot’s chair, when he’s suddenly grabbed from behind and set in a seat.

“Hey! What the fuck, Tasha?” he demands of his partner, when he sees her move for the pilot’s seat, “I’m the pilot!”

“Normally, yes,” she answers calmly, sitting and starting the pre-flight checks, “But in your current state, I doubt you could reach the flaps.”

Clint stares down at his feet, which are dangling off the seat and don’t even reach the ground, and crosses his arms over his chest and huffs out a breath. Natasha sighs and pats the arm of the co-pilot’s chair.

“You can co-pilot. I could use your eyes.”

Clint knows it’s a placation, that she can fly just as well as him, eyes or not, but he accepts the offer and climbs into the seat, helping her finish the checks. Steve listens to the exchange from the back where he’s waiting for Thor and Tony to return, but doesn’t interfere. He can’t imagine what it would be like to suddenly be unable to do all the things he’s used to, and he knows it must be even more frustrating for Clint, who he knows already questions his use to the team. When Tony and Thor return, empty handed, Steve tersely orders Tasha to take them home.

***

“That stuff they were throwing was magic, right? Why don’t we call Dr. Strange?” Steve suggests. Once they returned home and Tasha gave Clint a pair of her biking shorts to wear, the team had settled down in the living room to discuss their options for finding a way to fix Clint.

“I’m not calling Sir Ponce-a-lot,” Tony retorts, vehemently.

“We’re dealing with magic, Tony. Calling the actual ‘Sorcerer Supreme’ might not be a bad idea,” Bruce chimes in. He’d met them back at the house, as he usually did following a battle, and been informed of the situation.

“I’m not calling him,” Tony insisted again, “He’s a know-it-all asshat, who doesn’t do anything unless he personally benefits.”

“So he’s just like you,” Steve comments drily.

“That explains why they don’t get along,” Natasha adds.

“You know, I think I still have that capsule my dad used to make the Cap here. Why don’t we stick him in that and see what happens?” Tony offers, trying to move the topic away from his tense relationship with Stephen.

“Because I want to go back to being _me_ , not a super powered six year old.” Clint fires back, “Or a mini-hulk if you fuck it up.”

Bruce snorts into his drink at the comment, earning a smile from Clint.

“Okay, fine, no super Clint. Why don’t we stretch him, like in that old Willy Wonka movie,” Tony says, taking a sip of his scotch.

“Do you have any suggestions that are actually helpful?” Steve asks, glaring at Tony.

“No, because this is magic. And I hate magic. You know why I hate magic? Because it does stupid shit like this!” Tony shouts.

Clint flinches and curls in on himself for a moment before realizing what he’s doing, but the team notices before he can return to looking normal. The four of them shoot matching glares at Tony and he quiets.

“I’ll call Stephen. He owes me a favor for that thing in Zurich a few months back,” Tony acquiesces and stands, taking his phone from his pocket and going into the other room.

“I should call Phil, let him know what's happened,” Clint says, jumping down from the couch and going into his room.

He dials Phil’s number and hits the button to make the phone call a video call. Seeing is believing, as they say. When Phil answers, his greeting dies in his throat.

“Hello, Cli… Hello there. Who are you?” Phil asks, slipping into his professional demeanor almost without breaking stride.

“It’s me. Clint. I got hit by some kind of weird energy pulse or something, and it turned me into a kid. Well, my body is a kid. My mind is still me,” Clint informs his lover.

“Were you hurt? Did you catch the person responsible? Is it… permanent?” Phil rapid fires the questions, concern prominent in his voice.

“I’m not hurt. The thing that did this was destroyed, and Tony’s calling Strange in to see if he can help reverse it. That’s really all we know.” Clint’s head droops and he stares at the floor apologetically.

“I see,” comes Phil’s response, “Well, Strange may be an… interesting person, but he’s good at what he does. I’m sure he’ll think of something. And I wish I could come out there and be with you, but we’re dealing with a situation here, and I can’t leave at the moment. I’ll call you every day though, and if you need to call me, you can. I’ll always be here for you, baby boy.”

The endearment, which usually makes Clint’s heart flutter warmly, makes him cringe and he lashes out with no warning.

“I’m not a baby!” he shouts at the screen, little hands curled into fists at his side. The anger is only momentary, and he immediately relaxes, turning away from the screen, “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean… it just… hit a little close to home. Sorry.”

“No, it’s my fault,” Phil smiles warmly at him, “I should have chosen my words more carefully. Promise me you’ll stay safe.”

“I promise. And I’ll call as soon as we know anything.”

He hangs up with Phil, and goes to look at his collection of bows. The entire situation has him on edge, and shooting stuff has always been a good stress reliever. Unfortunately, all of his bows were built for his adult sized self, and are far too long and have too heavy of a draw weight. He kicks his dresser in frustration. The only other way he knows to blow off steam is to work out in the gym, and he’s confident his team will veto that idea immediately. Besides, none of the weights are small enough for his current self. Not one to be easily deterred, he heads out into the living room to find the team’s resident engineer. He needs a bow, and he needs it now.

Tony is sitting on the couch, playing with a design on his tablet when Clint finds him. Clint climbs onto the couch next to him and stares at the man until Tony sets his tablet to the side.

“Something I can help you with, Barton? I’m sorry about earlier. Strange is looking into the creatures we fought. He should get back to me in the next few days,” Tony informs him, actually managing to look a little guilty about fighting the idea of calling the doctor.

“I need a new bow,” Clint says, ignoring Tony’s apology. Between his reaction to Tony’s yelling and his angry outburst when Phil had called him ‘baby boy,’ Clint is starting to think that the child part of his mind is trying to take over, and staying focused on his adult life should keep that from happening. He thinks. “Mine are too big and too heavy to pull, so I need a new one. One I can use while I’m this size.”

“Shouldn’t be a problem,” Tony agrees with a nod, “I could have one fixed up by tomorrow.”

“No. Now,” Clint insists, glaring at Stark, “I’ve seen you rebuild one of your suits in less than half a day, a bow shouldn’t take even half that long.”

“Okay, that’s fair. But I’m working on something right now, so…”

Tony very suddenly finds himself nose to nose with a very irate six year old, (who he is just now remembering is a trained assassin,) and gulps audibly.

“Now,” Clint demands, his voice as hard as steel, and even more terrifying than normal.

“Sure. Now. Why not. My project can wait. Let’s make you a bow,” Tony says, voice soft and laced with the tiniest amount of fear.

Clint pulls away and jumps off the couch heading for the stairs down to Tony’s lab.

***

Tony Stark is one of, if not _the_ , most brilliant inventor in the world. And despite his fondness for missing deadlines and making his investors wait for the new items Stark Industries plans to place on the market, he is also exceptionally fast when he sets his mind to something. However, having a murderous six year old sitting on the stool next to him and watching him work, is having a decidedly negative impact on his performance. After nearly an hour of the constant scrutiny, Tony turns to his teammate.

“You ever heard the phrase ‘a watched pot never boils’?” he asks Clint, trying to keep his voice cheerful. “Having you sitting there, glaring daggers at me, isn’t going to get this new bow made any faster.”

“I’m your motivation. If I leave, you’ll start working on other projects and forget all about making me a bow,” Clint comments, his eyes never leaving the work table where Tony has laid out bits and pieces he’s planning to use.

“Look… I get it. I do. You’re frustrated and you need an outlet. If I was in your shoes, I’d spend every waking minute making a suit that would fit mini-me. But I gotta be honest… you’re stressing me out. Just give me a few hours, and I’ll have a new bow for you. Then you can take it down to the range and shoot until you can’t hold your arms up. But this hovering thing? Not helping.”

Clint heaves a giant sigh that manages to sound both put upon and pouty at the same time.

“Fine. I’ll go upstairs. But if you’re not done in a few hours, I’m coming back down here, and I won’t be leaving again until it’s done.” Clint slides off the stool following his half-threat, and heads back up to the living area.

A few hours later, as promised, Tony comes upstairs carrying a perfectly sized bow, that draws at exactly the perfect weight for his current strength. He’s also made over two dozen arrows that are just the right length. Clint does as Tony’s suggested, and takes the bow down to the range and shoots until he doesn’t have the strength to draw anymore. When he’s exhausted himself, he goes back up to the kitchen to make himself some dinner. He manages a peanut butter and jelly sandwich, but doesn’t attempt anything more difficult given his predicament. He can barely manage to feed himself when he’s adult sized, let alone when he’s as small as he is. He joins the team to watch a movie before bed, then gets up and follows Natasha when she heads to her room. She turns on him before they make it even half way down the hall.

“I don’t think so. You sleep in your own room. I’m not sleeping with you again until you’re normal sized,” she states, no room for debate in her voice.

“But Taaaaaaash! I wasn’t going to _do_ anything! I don’t wanna sleep by myself.” He knows he’s whining like a little child, but he feels like it can be forgiven given that he currently _is_ a little child.

“You’re fuc… you’re right you aren’t going to do anything. Because you won’t be there. Sleep in your own room,” she insists.

“Did you just… stop yourself from swearing around me…?” Clint asks, incredulously, “I’m not a kid! You can fucking swear around me!” he yells at her retreating back, angrily.

She doesn’t turn around. He sulks as he walks to his room, putting on one of his sleep shirts, (which still work just fine for their purpose, even if the pants don’t fit,) and crawling under the covers for a restless nights sleep.

***

The next morning, they are all awakened at the crack of dawn by the assemble alarm going off. Clint quickly jumps out of bed, which ends up more like a graceless fall as he momentarily forgets about his current situation. But he quickly picks himself up off the floor and throws on a pair of black capris Natasha had lent him, a tight fitting black undershirt, that only looks a little too loose on him, and a pair of black swim socks that conform to the person’s shoe size. They aren’t ideal for a mission, but they’ll do in a pinch. He grabs his new bow and quiver and rushes to the roof to meet up with the rest of the team. They stare at him when he joins them, and he can tell what’s about to happen.

“I’m still a part of this team, tiny or not, and I can still be your eyes. I’ll stay out of the way of any danger, and I’ll call for help immediately if I need it,” he responds before any of them can say what they’re thinking.

Steve looks at Tasha for a moment, before going over to Clint and kneeling next to him, making their eyes level.

“Clint, this isn’t a good idea. You might still have all of your memories, but your body isn’t as battle ready as it is as an adult. Stay here. If you came with us, we’d spend most of our time worrying about you, and that’s not where our heads need to be,” Steve reasons, hoping his friend will accept the logic for what it is.

“Fine. Go! Not like you ever need me anyways!” Clint cries, tears starting to stream down his face as he turns and storms off the roof in a huff.

Steve sighs and hangs his head for a moment, feeling awful about how he’s made Clint feel, but it had been the right call. And when he’s thinking straight again, he knows the archer will recognize that. He steps onto the jet and they take off.

Before they even reach the spot they’ve designated to land the jet, one of the engines gets shot out by one of the new weapons Hydra has attached to their tanks. Natasha lands the jet as best she can, keeping everyone in one piece, and they go to work.

Clint watches the action via Stark’s helmet, which he’s convinced JARVIS to put the video feed from onto the big screen TV in the living room. He sees the jet go down, recognizes that the fight won’t take long, and goes to start up the spare jet they have in the hangar. They’ll need extraction when they’re done, and it give him a way to be useful. For once.

As they finish emptying out the base, Hulk and Thor picking off the few stragglers that had gotten away, Tony pulls up the spare jets controls to have JARVIS fly it to their location, when its GPS signal pings as already on site… right next to where the other jet crashed. He informs the team of his discovery and they hurry to the jet, where Clint is sitting, legs swinging back and forth, in the pilot’s seat.

“What are you doing?” Tony demands hotly.

“I saw the jet go down from your helmet feed, so I had JARVIS help me fly this one to you for a pick up. I stayed on the jet the entire time. I’m just here to bring you home,” Clint explains with a giant grin on his face.

“What if they’d shot this one down like they did the other one?” Steve demands, real anger in his voice hiding his concern. He doesn’t wait for Clint to answer. “Tasha. Take over piloting. Get us home.”

Natasha gives him a look that shows him just how angry she is that he’d been so reckless, and Clint moves to the co-pilot’s seat quickly and quietly, not wanting to upset them any more than they seem to already be. When they’ve landed back at home and are safe in the confines of the mansion’s living room, Steve tosses his shield onto the couch and turns on Clint.

“What were you thinking? They could have shot you out of the sky, and you wouldn’t have been able to land her safely! You could have been hurt, or killed, Clint! That’s why we told you to stay here, where you’d be safe until we can figure out what happened to you and how to turn you back.”

“I know that. But I was just trying to…” Clint curls in on himself, shrinking back against the side of the couch.

“I know you were just trying to help. But satisfying your ego isn’t as important as staying alive long enough to keep helping this team! Don’t you understand that?” Steve raises his arms in a questioning gesture, his tirade stopping immediately when Clint crouches into a little ball, hands protecting his head.

“I won’t do it again! I’ll stay home! I’m sorry! Please don’t hit me! I promise I won’t do it again!”

The room is eerily silent after Clint’s unexpected outburst. Realizing what he’s said, Clint immediately runs to his room and slams the door shut, locking it behind him. Steve stares at the spot where the archer had been for a solid minute before lowering his hands and looking to the rest of the team for some kind of possible explanation.

“I think,” Natasha starts, “That his brain is trying to fit his body somehow. Like it’s trying to match the regression. He still has all of his memories and his skills, but his mind is trying to be like that of a six year old. And… well… let’s just say that he didn’t have the best home life growing up.”

Steve collapses onto the couch, burying his face in his hands.

“He’s going to hate me now. How could he think I would actually hit him? Doesn’t he trust me at all?”

“He’s not going to hate you,” she assures him, sitting down beside him and laying a comforting hand on his arm, “And he does trust you. He doesn’t think _you_ would actually hit him. That’s the six year old talking. When he was that young… male authority figures weren’t exactly _kind_ to him.”

The evening passes with no sign of Clint. Tasha goes to check on him around dinner, picking the lock on his door, but he isn’t there, and there is a knocked over chair next to the air vent. She calls into the vent to see if he wants something to eat, but if he hears her, he doesn’t answer. Steve retires early, the day’s events catching up with him. As soon as his door is closed, he hears a small voice calling his name.

“Steve… Steve…” the voice whispers from the air vent next to his closet door.

He crosses the room and opens the vent, meeting Clint’s blue gray eyes.

“Hey, Clint. You had us worried.”

“Could you help me down? My chair fell over when I jumped up, and nobody has anything close enough to the vent for me to use,” Clint asks, ignoring Steve’s worry.

“Sure,” Steve agrees hooking his hands under Clint’s arms, and pulling him from the vent. He sets the archer on the floor, and Clint immediately heads for the door.

“Clint? Could we talk for a second?” asks Steve, following his teammate.

“Don’t really wanna talk about anything, Cap. Just wanna grab some food and get some sleep,” Clint responds, not even turning around to face the Captain.

Steve grabs Clint by the waist, ignoring the startled yelp, and deposits Clint on the bed, sitting next to him.

“You don’t have to talk, but I need you to listen for a minute, alright?” Steve says quietly.

“Cheater. Just cause you’re a lot bigger and stronger than me now…” Clint mumbles under his breath, fuming.

“Clint, I could do the exact same thing even if you were your normal size. It’s not cheating. Will you listen?” Steve retorts without rancor.

“Fine. Since you won’t let me leave till I do. Speak on. I’ll listen.”

“Thank you,” Steve nods, “Clint… do you remember the first time we met?” Clint’s entire body stiffens, and he looks like he’s about to bolt for the door. Steve wraps an arm around his shoulders, “I know you hate talking about what happened on the hellicarrier, but hear me out. I had never even looked at your file. All I knew about you, was that you were apparently good enough to bring down the entire carrier with two well placed shots. I had to work with Stark, _with Stark_ , to keep us from falling out of the sky. I went to that room to get Natasha, because she was one of the only people I thought might be willing to defy orders to help stop the invasion. But then you offered to be our pilot, and Tasha assured me you were yourself and that you were safe. Clint… if there was ever going to be a time when I’d hit you… I’m pretty sure what happened on the hellicarrier more than qualified as reason. But I didn’t. Do you know why?”

“Pity?” Clint shrugs half-heartedly.

“No. I didn't hit you for several reasons. One, because I didn’t know you. I wasn’t the team leader then, and you didn’t answer to me. Two, because I knew Tasha had just beaten the crap out of you. Three, because if it had been me in your place, I would already have been beating myself up in my own head worse than anyone could ever express physically. And four… because I don’t hit people unless I have no other choice. I don’t want to hit people. I don’t like it. I do it because it’s necessary to keep the world safe from the people that are trying to destroy it. I will _never_ hit you out of anger, or for any other reason. Do you understand?” When Clint nods, he continues, “I don’t know what kind of childhood you had, or what kind of skeletons live in your closet, and I honestly don’t want to. That’s your business. But I want you to know that… well… that you can trust me. I’ll always have your back, even when we’re not out fighting. And also… you’re important to this team. I rely on those eyes of yours to do the one part of my job that I can’t do. Keep an eye on everyone during a fight. You’re my right hand. I will _always_ need you out in the field. That’s why I need you to stay at the mansion until we can get you sorted out. This team can’t afford to lose you. Plus… I consider you a friend. And I don’t like to see my friends get hurt.”

“You know… you really are kind of sappy sometimes,” Clint remarks, grinning up at Steve.

“So I keep hearing. Thanks for listening,” Steve says, gratefully.

“No problem,” Clint jumps down from the bed and heads for the door, “Always here if you need to talk.”

When Clint climbs into his bed that night, he thinks about what Steve said. He’ll never admit it to the Captain, but the things the man said, made him feel a lot better about his place on the team. He’d never truly felt like he belonged on such a super powered team when the only thing he brought to the table was his ability to hit a tie tack from a mile away, using nothing but a bow and arrow. He falls asleep feeling much better about himself than he had the day before.

***

Upon waking, Clint can immediately tell something is different. He looks down at himself and lets out a thunderous whoop of joy when he sees that his body is back to normal. He runs to Tasha’s room, and (taking his life in his own hands,) pounces on her in bed, kissing her firmly and soundly, sliding his hands along her curves as he does.

The team is thrilled to have him back to normal. They put the tiny bow and its arrows in a locker in the range, and try to forget the entire strange experience. Although, from time to time, if Clint isn’t listening to something Steve is saying when they’re home, the super soldier will pick him up by the waist and set him on the couch. Just because he can.

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you enjoyed it! Please let me know what you thought in the comments!


End file.
